Fluidity
by It'sElementaryMyDearWatson18
Summary: Sherlock barges into Molly's flat requiring the use of her shower. Events unfold into something neither of them were quite expecting. Rated M for a good reason, if you catch my drift!


**Hello good people of the fanfiction world!**

**I got a good response from my last fic, _Wager, _so I decided to try my hand again :) **

**Bit higher on the rating scale from the last one, it's moved to M and there is some sex in there...so beware, and turn back if this isn't your thing. **

**Also, this isn't really a sequel or has to do anything with my last fic, so don't worry about that!**

**Thank you all for reading! It's truly the best gift to a reader. Critique isn't always a bad thing as well ;) **

_**Lovely lady  
Let me drink you please  
I won't spill a drop I promise you  
Lying under this spell you cast on me  
Each moment  
The more I love you**_

**(_Crush, _Dave Matthews Band)**

X

Molly Hooper retreated to the confines of her quiet flat as the clocked ticked closer to nine p.m. She fumbled around in the depths of her pockets for her home keys, and finally finding them, fished the set out and twisted the correct one into the lock. She flicked the light switch on the wall, and blinked a few times as her flat was flooded with the beaming light from the bulbs overhead. She tossed her set of keys into the little ceramic bowl on the table to her right, and peeled off her blue winter jacket, placing it neatly on the coat rack to the left. She took off her shoes and slipped them into the closet. She stepped out and took a deep breath; it felt fantastic to be home.

She'd just been released from a grueling 12 hour shift. She wasn't aware that London's criminals and murderers could produce the large quantity of corpses that had appeared on the chilly silver tables of her morgue at St. Bart's. She'd been forced to ask assistance from Dr. Kent, a fellow mortician at the hospital, to help her with the rounds of autopsies, and despite the fact that the man made her skin crawl every time he turned his beady brown eyes in her direction, she'd been grateful for the extra pair of hands.

She collapsed into a heap on her white couch, tucking her legs underneath her body in an attempt to get comfortable. She soon discovered that despite spending the better part of the day on her feet, she could not remain still long enough to settle herself. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, picking herself back up from the couch.

She meandered towards her kitchen, suddenly craving a cup of tea. She plucked her favorite mug from the cupboard and selected a blend from her pantry. She placed her kettle on her little stove and poured in the water, before turning the knob to commence the boiling. She headed for her fridge, stomach grumbling, and realized that her last meal had been the soggy bowl of cereal she'd consumed on her way out the door this morning. Molly searched the contents, and came up with some ham and cheese, and a package of cookies designed to be thrown into the oven, baked, and eaten all under twenty minutes. Wasn't much of a supper, but her stomach wasn't arguing.

She rolled out the dough for the chocolate chip cookies onto a clean pan and stuck them into the oven, and began to get to work on her sandwich. She toasted a piece of bread from her one-day-past-the-due-date loaf, and found herself lost in her thoughts as she waited for her toaster to produce a lightly browned piece of bread.

She was jarred back to reality moments later by the sound of her oven dinging. She took the sheet of dough and placed it into the oven, nearly scorching her flesh on the racks as she maneuvered the pan into the proper spot. Soon enough, the toast popped up, and she grabbed the two slices and put them onto a plate. She spread the few slivers of ham and the single slice of cheese onto the bread and took a large bite, knowing full well that this wouldn't be enough to satisfy her rumbling and starved tummy.

The tea kettle screamed, demanding her attention half way through inhaling her sandwich. She brushed the crumbs off her top and moved to tend to it. She poured the piping hot water into her mug and added the tea bag. Molly blew on the beverage and took a cautious sip, and was rewarded with a third degree burn to her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She cursed aloud, and shook her head at her own stupidity.

Suddenly, the door of her apartment was thrown against the wall as it was opened harshly. Molly, frightened severely, screamed as a man covered in head to toe with blood entered her flat.

The gentleman shushed her. "Molly Hooper, please shut up." He said, his tone familiar.

His identity was made known. "Sherlock? What the hell are you doing in my flat? Why are you all bloody?" She said, perhaps the boldest string of words she'd ever uttered in the presence of this god-like man.

He sighed, and rolled his cool eyes. "I. Need. A. Shower." He said, enunciating each word as if she was an ignorant child.

Without warning, he shed his black coat. Next, he ripped off his purply colored shirt, pearly white buttons thrown every which way across her flat. He was completely disregarded the fact that Dr. Hooper was standing right in front of him, jaw on the floor, as she watched her 'crush' strip himself of his clothing.

His reddened hands undid his belt swiftly and made quick work of the button and zippers on his black dress slacks, the material pooling around his ankles. He slid off his shoes, and was soon clad only in his black boxers.

And with that, he headed in the general direction of her shower. "Molly, I will require a towel." He said, shortly.

Molly couldn't move. She couldn't breath. Her heart was racing at a million miles a moment and she was sure her cheeks were fully inflamed. She had just witnessed Sherlock Holmes, mastermind extraordinaire, take off all of his clothes. _In her flat!_

"Molly!" He called, impatiently.

She shut her mouth and mentally slapped herself. "Sherlock? What was that about towels?" She asked, stumbling towards her bathroom.

The water was streaming through the pipes and Sherlock was already behind the curtain. His boxers were tossed in a pile on the frilly blue bathmat. He threw back the barrier between them, ignoring the fact that he was stark naked.

"I would like some clean towels, if you don't mind, Molly." He said, his tone much softer now.

_She would get those, as soon as she remembered how to walk. Or use her brain at all, for that matter. _

She couldn't help but ogling at the perfection that was Mister Holmes. His skin was a milky white (minus the streaks of red across his shoulders and face), and while he wasn't some sort of wrestler with gigantic muscles, he did posses some muscular definition across his chest and in his arms. _Probably from all that running about solving crimes and saving London from succumbing to thievery and murder, _she deduced.

Her gaze skated lower until she was met with his...well...manhood. She quickly forced her eyes back upwards before getting more than she bargained for, feeling her cheeks turn several shades of scarlet in embarrassment. She felt like a child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Her eyes settled back on his face, and she noticed a beat later that he was staring at her with an eyebrow arched upwards questioningly.

She shut her eyes and resisted the urge to slap her forehead. "Towels, right. Got it." She said, her tongue feeling heavy and words flowing out in a jumble. She turned about on her heel and walked herself straight into the wooden doorframe of the bathroom.

She teetered backwards, but somehow managed to catch herself from falling. She turned back towards him, but his face remained impassive. His eyes betrayed his amusement at her blunder, however.

"Towels." She said, one last time, before properly making it out the door and to the closet that contained the various linens. She selected one of her less hole filled towels and a single white wash cloth.

She walked back into the small washroom, items in hand. "I don't mind if you get them all bloody. I'll just throw them in the wash and add some extra soap." She said, rambling.

The shower curtain had been draw back slightly, but not enough to prevent her from getting a nice view.

He was spreading soap, (her feminine, daisy smelling soap, she might add), across his dripping wet torso. The sight was extremely sexy, and Molly felt a surge of desire course through her veins like a hot burst of air.

"I'll just leave them on the toilet." She said, forcing herself from looking any more.

She turned to back away, but his voice called out and stopped her in her tracks.

"Molly?" He said, his voice in a lower register than before.

She cleared her throat. "Yes?" She squeaked, cursing herself at how her voice sounded.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor." He said.

"Of course, what is it?" She said, stepping back into the room, which was warming considerably.

"There's a portion of my back that I cannot reach with soap. I would appreciate it if you could help me." He stated simply.

It took her a moment to process his request. "Oh." She whispered. "Oh, you would like me to help you with that?" She asked, not fully understanding his request.

"Yes, that is what I just said."

She fumbled with how she should go about doing this. "Well, if you could just lean out of the shower a bit, maybe I could-" She began, but was interrupted once more.

"No. Take your clothes off, and get in. It would be much simpler that way." He commanded.

_Take your clothes off? _She thought. "I-"

"Do hurry up, Molly, the water is growing cold." He interrupted, drawing back the curtain once more.

She hesitated, but found herself pulling her beige sweater over her head. She quickly undid the button on her corduroy pants and tossed them into the dirty clothes hamper. She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to regain a little modesty. She shivered in her undergarments, a simple black bra and matching underwear, and suddenly wished she'd worn something a bit more sexy. She felt his sea foam green gaze on her, and she looked anywhere but straight at him. The blood rushed to her cheeks again.

"I don't believe that you wish to ruin your bra and panties. Off with them as well." He said, before turning back to the water. He ran his hands through his curls as he wetted them.

"Sherlock, I..." She started.

"If you do not wish to take them off yourself, I shall do it for you. What will it be, Molly Hooper?" He said, without facing her.

The thought of Sherlock Holmes ridding her of her final clothing barrier intrigued her, so she stepped into the shower with both garments on.

He turned about to face her, and his eyes immediately fell to her still semi-clothed body. He sighed, as if inconvenienced.

He reached for her around the waist and drew her near to him, fingers nimbly making their way up her back until they reached the clasp. He swiftly undid it, tossing the bra over the curtain rod. He hooked his fingers around the edges of her panties and slid them down her legs, his pale eyes remaining on hers throughout the entire de-clothing process.

"I'm unsure of why you couldn't do that yourself, but.." He waved his hand in the air dismissively.

He grabbed the bottle of soap from a ledge nearby and handed it to her without a word. She popped open the top and squeezed a decent amount into her palm. She attempted to quell the butterflies dancing around in her stomach, and fought the urge to break into a grin as she placed her hands on his back. She moved in rhythmic circles across his bloodstained flesh, taking much more time then likely necessary, yet enjoying every moment of it.

He remained rather stiff and unmoving, yet once or twice she could feel him leaning against her palms. His skin was smooth and felt lovely in her hands.

He stepped aside and allowed her to rinse off the remaining soap from her hands. "Thank you." He said, simply.

"You're quite welcome." She managed to say in response. She crossed her arms again, feeling rather self-conscious standing naked before the great consulting detective.

"Don't do that." He snapped, quickly.

She was startled. "What?" She asked.

"Don't cover yourself. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He said, green eyes boring into her chocolate brown ones.

She was shocked by his words. "I don't?" She squeaked.

"No, of course not." He replied, directly.

Silence fell upon the shower as the watered pulsed through the pipes, unused. She pondered his words inside her mind as his analyzing gaze watched her intently.

"Would you care to join me?" He finally asked, shattering the quiet.

"Beg your pardon?" She responded, wondering if she was imagining the entire encounter.

"Would you care to join me for the remainder of my shower?'' He clarified. "I could return the favor for your washing of me."

"I...yes." She finally answered.

He reached around her to pull the black ponytail holder from her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. He gently grabbed her shoulders and pushed her beneath the water. He ran his hands through her waves, wetting it throughly. He pulled a bottle from the small shelf, popping off the top and placing a generous amount of shampoo into his palms. He gently began to massage the soap into her scalp and it was all Molly to do not to moan in response. It felt heavenly.

He continued until the shampoo coated her thick hair before softly rinsing it out with water. The suds drained down her back and into the porcelain tub, bubbles forming around her feet.

Her back was to him, and it slightly irritated her that she could not see him. So, she turned around, but she took the move too quickly, and soon found herself skidding. Two large hands attempted to steady her but she soon crashed into his hard body and sent them both tumbling down. Molly was sprawled across his naked lap, with everything Sherlock had to offer resting between her thighs. Hot arousal shot through her like a rocket.

"Sherlock, I'm so so-" She began apologizing but was cut off for the third consecutive time.

The great consulting detective interrupted the doctor by covering her lips with his own. He wound his hand through her wet hair and drew her even more closer. She rested a hand on his firm chest to steady herself.

His tongue skated across her lips, pleading for entrance which she hastily granted. Their tongues began an erotic duel for dominance, each vying for the spot as victor.

Sherlock hoisted Molly up around his slim waist and moved to stand up with grace and ease. He pinned her against the cool tile of the shower, the water still spilling down the gentleman's back. She nipped at his bottom lip and earned a noise of approval from him. She snaked her hands around his neck and brought him impossibly closer to her. He began a trail of hot kisses down the sides of her neck and along her collar bone, teasing the flesh there. He bit down on a pressure point and Molly groaned in response, causing Sherlock to smirk.

"My, my, Dr. Hooper, seems we are all hot and bothered today, aren't we?" He inquired, his voice a husky whisper.

"Shut up." She muttered, surprising herself even more than the intended recipient.

"My pleasure." He said, bending down to kiss her once more.

His hands ran up the sides of her torso until the rested beneath her breasts. They ghosted over her nipples, earning a breathy moan from the good doctor.

"Sherlock.." She hissed.

He chuckled quietly, before leaning forwards to kiss both breasts, and began a new trail down to her belly button. She arched her back, the sensual gentleness of his mouth against her skin sending tingles throughout her body. He dipped lower and lower until he finally reached the point where she wanted him the most.

He ceased his beautiful torture of her body and stood up to look her in the eye.

"Pupils dilated fully, skin flushed, nipples hardened, I'd say you were sexually aroused, Dr. Hooper. Wouldn't you?" He said, smirking impishly.

Feeling brave, she narrowed her eyes to him. "You are not the only one with the power of deduction, Sherlock." She said, her eyes dropping to his midsection and beyond. "You too are sexually aroused." She said, staring pointedly at his erection.

The corners of his lips quirked up a bit. "Congratulations, Dr. Hooper, but Anderson could have worked that out." He said, unimpressed.

"You're right, Sherlock. It's not about the fact that you are sexually aroused...it's what we are to do about it." She said grabbing his pulsing manhood and stroking it experimentally.

He ground his teeth together in response. "Be careful, Molly. Be very careful. You are skating on thin ice. And I'm not sure what will happen if I..." Another test stroke. "Crack." He recaptured her lips in a heated kiss, drawing her body upwards and hooking her legs around his waist. The friction between their bodies was positively exquisite and caused them both to cry out.

She found him positioned at her entrance. She nodded in encouragement and he slid inside, filling her to the hilt. Both of them moaned at this newfound contact. Sherlock pulled himself out slowly before burying himself back inside. They both found a pace which suited both their needs, and Molly found herself on the edge of her tipping point. His thrusts came harder and faster and she was quickly pushed over the cliff and into her climax. She cried out his name, prompting Sherlock to reach his own. He spilled his seed inside of her until he was empty. He pulled out, and cradled her against his chest, the water still raining down around them, now completely chilled.

"Molly?" He said, breathlessly.

"Mmhhm?" She replied, unable to seek actual words.

"I believe your biscuits are burning." He said quietly.

At first, she didn't register exactly what he was saying. But then she smelled the smoke, and began scrambling to get out of the shower to prevent a fire.

"Oh no!" She cried, hurrying towards her kitchen.

_Finis. _

Well thank you for reading! This is only my second venture into the sex world of fanfiction, so go easy. Sorry if it was positively terrible!

Drop me a review if you choose :)

Have a great day!

xo


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